


A Place for Heroes Only

by endearinglysad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-11
Updated: 2010-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endearinglysad/pseuds/endearinglysad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years after the death of her husband forces her back into hunting, Mary Winchester gets a lead on the demon that killed him. A long-lost contact sends her to a run-down roadhouse in Nebraska to meet a woman named Ellen who might be able to help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place for Heroes Only

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if this is the start of something interesting or hella lame. Title from P.J. Harvey's "O Stella."
> 
> This story can also be found in [podfic](http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/place-for-heroes-only) form! (read by Tinypinkmouse)

Mary watched the rundown building from across the street, trying to decide if it was worth the risk to try and get a closer look. She was at the coordinates her contact had given her, but the place looked like it had been abandoned for years.

The two-story building sat alone, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Old crates and other junk lined the walls, and even the sign that spanned the top of the building’s face—Harvelle’s Roadhouse—was ancient and missing half its lights. There were no cars in the gravel lot, just an old junker Ford parked in the rear that could have been there since before the building was for all it looked like it ran.

She’d been watching the place for upwards of half an hour now, parked on the shoulder across the road pretending to be changing a tire. She could just walk in at this point, claim she was looking for a phone. If someone _had_ been watching her, they would have no reason to be suspicious. She was just a single mom, having a bit of roadside trouble.

She carefully placed the tire iron back in the trunk and shut it, but left the ratty spare sitting on the side of the road. Hopefully it would look like she’d given up mid-change, but the lug nuts were tight—Dean would be able to drive away if he needed to.

She poked her head in the open driver’s-side door. Sam was asleep in the backseat, conked out with a book open on his chest, but Dean had been watching the building too, a second pair of eyes, just like she’d trained him. She hissed quietly to get his attention, then motioned him to move behind the wheel. He was only twelve, still small, but stocky like his dad. She’d taught him to drive a few years ago, just in case, and he’d been teaching Sammy for the last few months. Just in case.

“See anything?” she whispered.

“No movement at any windows, “he told her, voice high, but quiet. “And I can’t see the back door from here, but I don’t think anyone’s been in or out. Nothing on the EMF either, but we’re probably too far away.”

Mary nodded, trying to feel only pride at how good at hunting Dean was turning out to be. “Oky, I’m going in for a closer look. If you hear anything, or if I’m not back in fifteen minutes—”

“I know, Mom. I’ll follow the plan,” Dean interrupted, his clear green gaze turning back to the darkened. roadhouse. “I’ll take care of Sammy. You don’t have to worry.”

“That’s my boy,” she whispered with a smile, running quick fingers through his short brown hair. She ignored—as usual—the small pang his words gave her.

She shut the door as quietly as she could and left Dean to his careful watch. Passing by Sam’s open window, she kissed two fingers and then reached inside to press them to his smooth little cheek. He made a small snuffling noise but didn’t wake.

Mary’s gun was nestled into its holster under her left arm, but she couldn’t risk pulling it out to check it when she didn’t know who could be watching. The summer-weight jacket she was wearing hid it from view, but she’s be able to draw it quickly if it came to that. She checked to make sure her lock-pick kit was in her pocket, then headed across the empty street.

She approached from a corner, wanting to keep as much of the building in view for as long as possible, but careful to walk normally. Her daddy had taught her—people pay more attention to you if you look like you’re up to something, but no one was going to pay much attention to a sweet and wholesome blonde girl who looked like she was just going about her business. Mary knew she’s lost the “sweet and wholesome” the night John had died, but it still surprised her how often people discounted her just because she was blonde.

From the front porch she could see that the windows that had seemed boarded up from across the street were just lined with curtains on the inside. She tried to peer through as she passed but couldn’t make out anything. The screen on the front door creaked as she pulled it open, but the door was locked tight. Mary eyed the shiny new deadbolt just above the handle.

Not abandoned then.

Making a quick decision, Mary dropped to her knees and pulled the kit out of her pocket. She made quick work of the deadbolt, and gently, quietly, pushed the door open. Nothing moved in the dim lit-room; she slipped inside, still crouching low.

The interior was as dark as the exterior, but here the rundown junkiness was replaced with a well-worn but homey tavern. A large, square bar stood to the right, fully stocked, and tables of varying size were scattered around the rest of the space along with few game machines and a pool table in a raised section at the back. Mary assumed the swinging door behind the bar led into a kitchen, and there was a darkened hallway farther back in the main room that she was going to have to check out too. Other than that, the room was empty.

Creeping silently, she circled the bar and headed for the swinging door, listening carefully for any noise or movement. The door swung in with a gentle push. A quick glance into what was, in fact, a kitchen, showed no immediate lurking dangers, so she let the door fall closed again and turned back into the main room.

And found a gun pointed at her head.

“You have three seconds to tell me who the hell you are.”

The woman’s voice was husky, rich and low, and the gun was steady in her hand. Mary thought about going for her own, but the woman’s eyes narrowed at her imperceptible hesitation and she pulled back the hammer, re-aiming her gun right between Mary’s eyes. Okay, Plan B.

“I’m Mary,” she whimpered, trying to look scared and confused. “My car—I got a flat and I need…I thought I could call someone—that you might have a phone I could use…”

The woman raised an eyebrow and regarded her silently for a minute. “Mary?” she finally asked. “Winchester?”

“…Yeah?”

The woman kept staring at her, assessing, but finally the gun lowered. “Hey, I’m Ellen. David sent you.” She transferred the gun to her left hand, then offered her right in greeting.

Mary lowered her arms, slowly and reached to take the shake that Ellen offered. Ellen’s face was different now, more open and less angry, but the hardness Mary had seen was still there. But she smiled once Mary’s hand was tight in hers.

“By the way, anyone ever fall for that lost damsel routine?”

Mary couldn’t stop a wry smile at that. “You’d be surprised what you can get most men to do with a few stuttered words,’ she replied.

Ellen snorted. “Figures,” she answered, turning towards the bar. “Come on, I’ll get you a drink.”

Mary hesitated. “I just need to…get my bag from my car first.”

Ellen smiled knowingly, nodded. “You can bring the boys in here if you want.”

Mary’s smile faded, and she stared hard at Ellen, figured that the woman had been watching them watch the place after all.

Ellen must have noticed her suspicion, but just shrugged. “David mentioned you’d be coming with some passengers.”

Mary nodded slowly, then turned to the door.

“Hey—Mary,” Ellen called.

Mary turned, eyes locking with Ellen’s.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you or those boys while you’re in here.”

Mary didn’t answer, just turned and walked back out into the sunlight.

The day seemed too bright after the dim confines of the roadhouse, and Mary had to let her eyes adjust for a minute before she could focus on the dark shape of the Impala still parked across the street. Dean’s head was just visible over the steering wheel, and she could tell he was watching her intently, waiting for the _all clear_. She waved him over, and he carefully drove the car across the road and into the parking lot, pulling up in front of the door and killing the engine.

Sammy was awake now, and she could see him watching her too, waiting for instructions. The three of them worked well as a unit, even with the boys still so young, and that knowledge filled her with equal pride and keen sadness. She pulled open the back door and leaned in over her younger son, pretended to be looking for something behind the front seat so she could speak to her boys without Ellen—if she was watching—or anyone else knowing. Ellen seemed friendly enough, but until she knew exactly what she and the boys were walking into, she wasn’t taking any chances.

“Okay, we’re going in.” She spoke low, head close to Sam’s and Dean leaning over the front seat to get in close. “Dean, you keep the keys and keep Sammy by you the whole time, okay? This goes south, I want you to get your brother and yourself out as quick as possible. If we get separated, don’t wait for me. I’ll get to you as soon as it’s safe.”

Dean nodded, long past familiar with their usual contingency plans. He reached back to pull the keys from the ignition and slid them into the pocket of his worn blue jeans.

“And Dean…” She continued, waiting until he was looking at her again. “Take your gun. Just in case.”

Dean stared back at her for a moment, uncertainty and a little fear warring with excitement across his face. In their down times he constantly begged her to take him shooting, had ever since she’d given him the gun a year ago. But he also knew what it meant that she was having him take it along now. His gaze strayed to Sam for a minute, and he gave his brother a small reassuring smile before leaning over to pull the gun out from under the passenger seat where he kept it wrapped in an old t-shirt.

Mary looked at Sam too, saw the wide eyes and furrowed brow. She watched Sam watch his brother pop the clip on the small Smith a&amp; Wesson semi-automatic, check to make sure it was loaded, then slide the clip back in and check to make sure the safety was on. By the time he was done, Sam looked calm again, and when he finally turned to her, she could see his confidence in his brother glowing in his eyes. Sam was never afraid when Dean was around. She smiled at him, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling him from the car and motioning Dean to follow.

Ellen was sitting on a stool at the bar, clearly waiting for them when they got back inside. She hopped up when they came in, smiling at the boys, but didn’t come any closer. That, more than anything, calmed Mary down. Ellen was giving them the space to feel safe and welcome at the same time.

“Morning, boys,” Ellen drawled. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Her smile was warm, motherly and focused but not ingratiating.

Dean looked at Mary for permission. She nodded once, and he turned back to Ellen. “A coke, please, Ma’am.’

Ellen’s smile widened. “And for your brother?”

Dean turned to Sam, who met his questioning eyes with a small nod. “He’ll have a coke, too, please.”

“All right,” she said with a chuckle, already moving behind the bar to pull two chilled glasses from the cooler. “Why don’t you two grab a table, and I’ll see if Jo wants to come down and play while your momma and I talk.”

Mary nodded to Dean again, easier this time, and Dean gave Sam a gentle push toward a grouping of tables near the door. He let Sam pick which table he wanted, then settled between Sam and the door. Ellen carried the drinks to them on a tray, chilled glasses with ice and tall bottles of soda. Mary figured the glasses weren’t going to see much use—the boys hardly ever got to drink soda out of bottles.

Ellen detoured on her way back to the bar, stuck her head through the doorway at the back that Mary had noticed earlier and called, “Jo! Come on down here, honey!” and then returned to the bar, dropping her tray on the small pile next to Mary.

“You have a son too?” Mary asked her.

“Daughter,” Ellen replied. “Joanna. Seems like a boy sometimes, though.” She said this with a laugh, gesturing over Mary’s shoulder to the door. A tiny little blonde girl stood in the doorway. Her hair was pulled into two pigtails just below her ears, falling in pretty curls over each shoulder. She could have been a living porcelain doll if not for the too-big Batman shirt she wore over worn pink shorts and her dirt-smudged cheek. She couldn’t have been more than six, and she was absolutely adorable.

Jo had a small scowl on her face, and she eyed the boys at their table with outright suspicion, but she came up to her mother easy enough, and when she finally pulled her focus to Mary, her gaze turned much more assessing.

“Who’re you?” she asked. Mary had to smile at the little girl’s boldness.

“Jo, this is Mrs. Winchester,” Ellen answered, lifting the little girl up to sit in front of her on the counter. “And those are her sons, Sam and Dean. She and I have some business to talk about, so do you think you could see if Sam and Dean want to play one of the games?”

Jo looked at the boys again, then turned back to her mother. “Do they have their own quarters? They have to have quarters and they can’t use mine ‘cause I only have five and I’m saving them.”

Mary hid a grin behind her hand while Ellen looked at her daughter in mock-reproach. “Now, Joanna Beth, what have I told you about sharing?”

Jo hung her head. “I know, momma, ‘take care of others and you take care of yourself,” she sing-songed. Neither Mary or Ellen missed the little accompanying eye roll, or that the pout was back, but Ellen just ignored it while Mary started digging in her pockets. She held out her hand to the little girl.

“Hey, Jo, I’ll make you a deal.” Jo reached out, and Mary dropped a handful of quarters into her little hand. “The boys can play with these, and you can keep whatever they don’t use.”

Jo smiled brilliantly, but turned to her mom to make sure it was okay. “What do you say?” Ellen asked her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Winchester!” Jo squealed then hopped off the counter on her own, pigtails flying behind her. She ran over to the boys and showed Sam the quarters, then gestured over to the game machines. Dean followed the two younger kids to the back of the room and moved a chair up to the game Jo had chosen, lifting her up so she could see. He lifted Sammy up on to the chair next to her, and the three settled in to playing the game.

Mary looked back at Ellen and found the woman watching the three kids fondly. “Dean’s pretty good at the big-brother thing,” she remarked, turning back to Mary.

‘He’s had to be,” Mary answered. “Ever since my husband died, he’s been taking care of Sam.”

Ellen nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the bar. She busied herself getting drinks for the two of them, and the question, when it came, was quiet. “How long?”

She wasn’t looking at Mary when she said it, just puttered around the bar tidying up. She was still giving Mary space, this time to answer or not. Mary was a little surprised to find herself wanting to answer.

“Eight years. Sammy was just a baby when his dad died—he doesn’t really remember him, but it was hard on Dean.”

Ellen set a beer down in front of her, and Mary took a sip gratefully, needing the momentary distraction. Ellen took a sip from her own bottle. She still wasn’t looking at Mary. “Jo still asks me when her daddy’s coming home sometimes.”

Mary turned to look at the little girl, laughing as Dean helped guide her little hands on the controls. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and waited to see if Ellen would continue.

Ellen forced a smile, finally turning to meet Mary’s eyes. “Well. It’s been almost two years now. I’ve heard it gets easier.”

Mary dropped her eyes, picked at the label. There was no way she could answer the question Ellen wasn’t asking in a way that wouldn’t hurt them both. After a minute, Ellen cleared her throat and cam around to drop onto the stool beside her. “So. How do you know David?”

Mary went along with the subject change gratefully. “Oh, he’s an old friend of my father. I lost track of him after…after my parents died, but a few months ago I got a lead on something I’ve been tracking for a long time. I made a few calls, trying to get some more information, and last week, David called and said he knew someone who might be able to—what?”

Ellen had been listening with a growing look of confusion on her face. “I don’t understand,” she said with a short laugh. “I thought you were here to help me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I called David last week, told him I’d landed a hunt that I couldn’t do myself because of my kid, and he said he knew someone that might be able—”

“—to help,” they finished in unison. Mary stared at Ellen with a growing sense of dread and she could see it mirrored in the other woman’s eyes. They moved at the same time.

Ellen darted behind the bar again, dropping to open a hatch in the floor that Mary hadn’t noticed in her first cursory look around the roadhouse. She pulled out two shotguns and a revolver, dropping the hatch closed behind her. “Who would want us in the same place at the same time?”

Mary had moved to the front windows, cursing herself for not keeping an eye on the outside world. Anyone could have come along while they was sitting here chatting, and they wouldn’t have known until it was too late. The parking lot was still empty except for the Impala, but that didn’t mean a whole lot.

“_Why_ would they want us in the same place at the same time? I didn’t even know you or this place existed until David called me last week.” She checked the front door, made sure the deadbolt was locked tight.

The kids had noticed something was going on, and Dean had pulled Sam and Jo away from the game and tucked them under the massive pool table. He was crouched in front of them, gun drawn, waiting for orders.

Ellen tossed one of the shotguns to Mary, then ducked into the kitchen. She was back less than a minute later. “Back door’s still locked, but all the windows upstairs are probably open. Most of them are salted, but that’s not going to keep some things out.”

Mary was still staring at the shotgun in her hand. It was old, well used and well cared for, polished wood of the stock oiled and gleaming, with the initials W.A.H. carved in deep. She looked up at Ellen.

“How did your husband die?”

Ellen gave her an impatient look, shook her head. “I don’t—” she started, with a quick look at her daughter.

Mary turned to Dean, gave a quick nod in Jo’s direction. Dean immediately turned to the little girl and started telling her a story about three little puppies that he used to tell Sam, and Mary moved closer to Ellen, still keeping one eye on the windows. “I think it might be important,” she said quietly.

“Devil’s gate,” Ellen answered shortly. “In California. He was alone, thought he could turn the Devil’s Gate into some giant devil’s trap, keep the demons inside. It didn’t work.”

Mary grabbed her by the arm. “My husband was killed by a demon who did something to my son. I’ve spent the last eight years trying to find out what exactly he did, and what his plans are for Sam, and how to kill the son of a bitch. Our husbands were both killed by demons for some reason, and now it looks like they want us too. We’ve got to get out of here.”

The phone behind the bar rang.

Mary and Ellen stared at each other a minute, then Ellen moved to get the phone while Mary moved back to the door.

“…Harvelle’s,” Ellen answered. She listened for a moment, then her gaze found Mary’s. “David, what a coincidence. We were just talking about you…no, everything’s fine. The kids are playing some games and Mary and I were just enjoying a beer.”

Mary motioned Dean over to her, and he darted quietly across the room after a quick look back to check on Sam and Jo. “You still got the keys?”

Dean pulled them out of his pocket, slipped the ring over two of the fingers of the hand not holding his gun.

“Good boy. Get Sam and Jo closer to the door and be ready to get out of here when I tell you, okay?”

Dean nodded and crossed back to the pool table, motioned the kids out from under it, and to follow him silently. They crouched next to a small table, and Dean took position at one of the windows.

She turned her attention back to Ellen, who slammed the phone back into its cradle and joined her at the door. “David sold us out.”

“How do you know?”

“A couple months ago I asked him to find me a small bow for Jo. Just a minute ago I asked if he’d found one yet, and he asked me if I was sure Jo was old enough to start bow training yet since he was so young. Then he asked how much longer I thought you’d be here.”

“Not much,” Mary answered. “We’ve got to get out of here, get somewhere safe until we figure out what’s going on.”

“Mom!” Dean whispered urgently, gesturing outside when she turned to look at him.

A man stood in the parking lot a few feet from the back of the Impala. He was watching the front of the Roadhouse. His neck was very clearly broken. After a minute, he smiled and waved. His eyes shone black against the pale mask of his face.

“And hello, David,” Ellen murmured. “Dammit. Okay, you got a Plan B?”

Mary looked around quickly. “You got salt?”

“Yeah. Couple bags in the cellar.”

“Okay, we make a salt trap. Then you take the kids out the back and circle around to the car. I’ll let him in, spring the trap, then meet you out front.”

“Are you crazy? A little salt’s not going to hold that thing! And no way in hell am I leaving you in here alone.”

“It’ll hold long enough for us to get out.”

Ellen just shook her head but grabbed Dean and ran back into the kitchen. They returned a minute later, each lugging a five pound bag of rock salt.

“How do you want to set this up?”

“Around the bar.”

Mary grabbed one of the bags and tore the top open, started pouring the salt in a line around inside the three-sided base of the bar. If this was going to work, the demon was going to have to come around and try to grab her, and she’d have to vault the front of the bar while salt filled in the opening at the back. No problem.

Ellen sent Sam upstairs with instructions to grab sheets off one of the beds. She opened the trap door in the floor again and started pulling out rope and more shells for the shotguns.

A knock sounded at the door.

Four heads turned to look, but the door didn’t open. They kept working. Ellen climbed up on the bar to start rigging the rope to the overhead lights. Mary finished pouring the salt. The knocking continued.

Sam rushed back into the room, clutching a bundle of sheets to his chest. “Mom, I think I smelled smoke.”

Ellen started to jump down, but Mary motioned her to stay and keep working on the ropes, then darted into the kitchen herself. She could smell it too, now, the air in the room just the barest hint of hazy. She grabbed a towel off the nearest counter and headed for the back door. It was hot to the touch. She ran back to the main room.

Ellen had made a kind of sling out of one of the sheets and was tying it up to the ceiling, but she looked up when Mary entered. They both ignored the continued knocking at the door.

“We don’t have much time.”

Ellen nodded, and picked up the other bag of salt off the bar, spreading it as best she could along the length of the sheet. When the bag was empty, she hopped down. “All you’ve got to do is pull that rope, there, and the sheet will drop.” She pointed to a rope hanging down in front of the bar, in the perfect place for Mary to grab as she went over.

“Is there another way out? The back door is blocked.”

Ellen nodded. “The cellar has an opening to the outside. There’s all sorts of junk out there—he may not have seen it.”

“Okay.” The women stared at each other. Ellen’s eyes were worried, but there was a determined set to her mouth, and even though they’d known each other for less than an hour, Mary felt safer with Ellen than she had in a long time. She reached out to touch the other woman, wanted the reassurance of Ellen in her hand before she sent the boys off with her. “I’ll give you ninety seconds to get to the cellar door before I let him in. Promise me…”

Ellen just nodded. “I’ll keep ‘em safe until you get there. I’m not leaving without you.”

It was Mary’s turn to nod, though they both knew that was a promise that Ellen might have to break. She turned to find Dean and Sam. Dean had taken his post at the window again, was watching the empty parking lot to make sure nothing was sneaking up to join whatever was still rhythmically knocking at the door. Sam had joined his brother, tucked in between Dean and the wall, not trying to see outside just content to be shoulder to shoulder with his brother. He turned worried eyes to her as she approached them, but Dean—her little soldier—just kept his watch.

“Anything?”

“Not yet. No cars and no sign of movement. Unless something’s waiting out back, he’s alone.”

“Maybe that’s why he started the fire,” Mary said. “Wouldn’t need to watch the back then.”

“Maybe,” Dean agreed, finally turning to face her. “I’m staying with you.”

“Dean…” she began, already shaking her head.

“I can help—you know I can! I can hide under one of the tables and pull the rope while you’re coming over the bar. You need my help.”

Mary grabbed Dean by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “Of course I need your help, baby,” she started. “I need you to take care of Sammy. I need to you help get Ellen and Jo to the car. You’ve gotta follow the plan, get everyone to safety.”

“But what if you miss the rope? What if you can’t—”

Mary stopped him. “I won’t miss. By the time you get to the car, I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”

Dean just shook his head, gaze dropping to the floor, but he stopped arguing. “C’mon, Sammy,” he mumbled, grabbing his brother by the arm and tugging him gently towards where Ellen was waiting by the kitchen door.

Sam pulled out of his brother’s grip though and darted back to his mother. “There’s no one else, mom,” he whispered. “That man is here by himself.”

Mary looked at her son. “How do you know that, Sammy?”

“Mr. David told me. When I was upstairs, getting the sheets.”

“_What?_”

“He helped me pull the corners off because the mattress was too heavy and I couldn’t lift it. He looked sad, but he said to bring you the sheets and tell you about the smoke smell.”

She had no idea how to respond to that. David hadn’t left the parking lot since he’s gotten to the Roadhouse—Dean had been watching him the whole time.

She couldn’t deal with this now. She had to get the boys out before whatever it was that was _still_ patiently knocking at the front door tried another tactic. She just crouched in front of her son, gae him a hug. “Thanks, Sammy. Now go with Dean and Ellen. Do what they say and help watch out for Jo, okay? It’s your turn to be a big brother, okay?”

Standing up, she led Sam to where Dean, Ellen and Jo were waiting. “Ninety seconds,” Ellen reminded her. Mary nodded, and Ellen pushed open the door to the kitchen. The room was full of smoke now, and Mary could feel the distant heat of flames. She motioned the boys to pull their shirts up to cover their mouths and noses, and Ellen took Jo and Sam by the hands and the four of them disappeared into the kitchen.

Counting in her head, Mary circled the bar and paced slowly towards the door, acting out her next few moves in her head. If the demon looked up at any point, she was most likely fucked, so she’d have to keep it distracted while she slowly led it around the bar. The bar itself was higher than her waist, but she’d vaulted higher before—as long as she didn’t miss her footing and got a good enough start, she could clear the top with a little effort, and the demon wouldn’t be able to follow. Well, if it was a higher-level demon, the salt wasn’t going to hold it, but there wasn’t much she could do about that now. She stopped in front of the door, reached out to grasp the shiny new deadbolt.

_Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine. Ninety. Ready or not…_ She turned the lock, heard and felt it disengage with a weighty _thunk_.

The knocking stopped.

Mary scrambled back a few steps, wanting to be well out of arms reach when that thing came through the door, but still close enough that it would come after her. Nothing happened.

She could hear the fire burning through the kitchen now, hoped that Ellen and the kids had gotten out safely and then pushed the thought out of her head. She heard the springs in the doorknob creak as it turned, and then the door swung open. David stood in the doorway, waxy face stretched into an unnatural smile. His head was resting at a funny angle on his shoulders.

“Little Mary Campbell,” he said. The voice was the same as she remembered it, almost jovial with a hint of scratchiness, like he’d just finished laughing himself hoarse. It sounded wrong coming from that face. “I guess you found the place okay.”

“Just where you said it’d be,” she replied, taking a step back for every step he took towards her. “Been wondering why you sent me here though.”

“Figured it’d be easier this way. Easier to shoot three fish in a barrel than in a giant goddamned ocean.”

Mary felt the edge of the bar press up against her back. David—or whoever he was—was still advancing toward her, so she kept moving too, sliding along the edge of the bar. The room was starting to get hazy with smoke, but she ignored the need to cough, just kept moving towards her goal. “But why here? You could have killed me and the boys anywhere.”

“Oh, not you and the boys. Just you. We have other plans for the boys. No, this little barrel is strictly girls only.”

Mary felt a chill of horror run through her. “What plans?”

The demon just laughed, mimed zipping his lips. “I can’t wait to bring my master the head of Mary Winchester. I’m gonna be the belle of the ball.”

Mary was behind the bar now, moving into the center, David now fully blocking the opening. She stopped. The kitchen door was on fire now, but she ignored it, all of her attention on the figure in front of her. Just a little bit closer.

He lunged, knocking her back into the edge of the bar. She spun out of his grip, grabbed on to an arm and used his forward momentum to slam his head into the wood. He went down, but was back up again immediately, reaching out to grab her around the waist. She fell backwards, one shoulder smashing into a tray of glasses stowed neatly under the bar. The demon picked her up and slammed her back down—on top of the bar.

Mary could see the dangling rope out of the corner of her eye, but the demon had her by the neck now, squeezing down slowly while she scrambled at his hands, trying to break his hold. She could feel the strain on her neck, tendons stretching as he squeezed, and little lights were popping in front of her eyes.

“_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_—”

The demon above her screamed, its eyes flipping beetle black. The grip he had on her neck loosened slightly.

“—_omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_—”

The hands released her and Mary sucked in a desperate breath, already moving to roll off the counter. She grabbed the rope as she spun, gave it a hard jerk and heard the rain of salt hit the floor. The demon screamed again, realizing that it was trapped.

“—_infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_—” Suddenly Ellen was there, picking her up off the floor and dragging her towards the door, still chanting the words of the exorcism as they moved. Mary joined in, throat raw from smoke and David’s hands.

The door was standing open, and Mary could see the black shape of the Impala waiting in the parking lot, Dean behind the wheel watching them at the door. Together, she and Ellen said the last words of the prayer, watched as a cloud of black smoke poured out of the demon’s mouth and out through the door above their heads. The entire back wall of the Roadhouse was burning now—nothing to do but turn and run. Ellen climbed into the backseat and Mary into the front, nodding to Dean to take off, and the car shot out of the parking lot.

They drove for a good twenty minutes before Mary finally gestured for Dean to find a place to pull over. Dean turned off the car, and they sat in the sudden silence without talking for a few minutes. When Mary turned around, Ellen had Jo curled up into her side, and Sam was staring at the back of Dean’s head like he was reading the answers to all of life’s questions. Ellen gave her a tired smile, and Mary returned it, trying to put all her gratitude into a simple look between them.

She climbed out of the car, turning to look back the way they had come. They could see the cloud of smoke in the distance, knew the building would be burning for a while yet. It was quiet here though, too far away to hear the sounds of sirens or destruction.

Ellen joined her, and they leaned against the trunk for a minute and watch the black cloud of smoke float across the sky.

“The kids okay?” she finally asked.

“Yeah. Dean’s telling them a story.”

Mary turned to look at her. “_Thank you_,” she whispered.

Ellen just nodded. “You would have done the same,” she said simply, looking back out at the sky.

“So,” Mary continued after a minute. “A demon tried to kill us today.” She told Ellen what it had told her, watched Ellen’s lips press into a hard line.

“Why would it want to take the boys and kill us? Why not just kill us all? There’s no way this plan was easier than just picking us off separately. We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

Mary nodded. “I know.” She stood, turned to Ellen. “You and Jo come with us. We can work together, maybe keep each other safe. Besides,” she said, slow smile forming, “I owe you a couple.”

Ellen returned the smile. “Alright. You can start by teaching me that damsel in distress thing.”

Mary laughed. “Deal.”

They moved back around to the doors. Dean had climbed into the backseat with Sam and Jo, and Mary paused next to the driver’s door to look back at the sky one more time. When she looked back, Ellen was watching her.

They exchanged a look, a moment of understanding, and Mary reached for the door handle.

“We’ve got work to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this wasn't super cheesy. The idea of these two mothers on the road together, hunting and trying to keep their children safe is really intriguing to me, along with the question of what would Sam and Dean be like if Mary had raised them as hunters instead of John? I'm not sure if I got the execution right though, and I'm not sure if I'm done with these two just yet…
> 
> Much thanks to the Supernatural Wiki—I got so much information from there, especially with regards to everyone's birthdays/respective ages. I figure Mary is about 37 in this and Ellen is closer to 31, and I tried to stick to canon as close as I could, with the exception of things that wouldn't necessarily be the same if Mary had lived instead of John.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Place for Heroes Only [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/313596) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




End file.
